


A lyrium wolf.

by alcoholinspired



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 05:19:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10633050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alcoholinspired/pseuds/alcoholinspired
Summary: Warning: this is about Fenris and Danarius right after the marks. Most certainly triggering. Proceed at will.





	

Pain and pleasure. Those two words filled him and his life. But for who they were?

There was a man tied, naked, scared, empty, angry. With a mind as clean as a summer cloud and a burning sensation as hot as the fire of the sun on his skin. What were those things painted on him that knew all his angles? The pain, unbearable, stopped all the logical faculties possible, there were only spasms, instincts, guts and feelings, all of them violent. Was there still a man inside? Had there ever been one?

There are mumblings somewhere, indistinguishable, genderless, emotionless, were they real voices or some wicked trick of pain? Together they discussed, and soon the voices brought hands to his skin, long and cold they examined every inch of him.They were ungentle, whenever they touched it was like salt upon an open wound. They talked, but understanding anything was beyond possible. There was nothing else in him, save for the heavy rocky sensation left by pain. How long had he been there? What happened?

Pain. That was the first word he knew. A room, chains and brazen hands upon him. How could there still be any possibility of sensation after all? But his skin was more than capable of it. Way too much. With a gesture of the old man’s had the chains changed their position, and so went his limbs, too weak to pose any single worthless protest. There was pride in his eyes. Two light diamond eyes, soulless, glimmering with lust. That face possessed so little expressions, and yet evil transpired from it. He looked straight into him, piercing if there was anything left in the wide green eyes of his wild wolf. The old man did not cared to go near the face where there once was a man, he only approximated his hand to his wolf face, close enough for the blood under the skin follow in anticipation, moving as someone who caressed water, and together with the blood the marks answered too, faintly shinning as a lustful obedient lover, expecting an order, a touch, an affliction. His long fingers curled themselves in the messed hair, white as the fur of an wild animal, pressing his wrist upon the three dots he carved on his pet forehead, his signature, and pulled them roughly. A new shockwave of pain, of head being smashed in a rock while sepulted, if he though no other scream could come out of that throat he thought wrong, for a wild bellow was heard, and it pleased it’s master, eased his face, the pointy ears lowered in relax. Only when it was enough he released the white fur of his pet, a steel cold hand crawled his down his panting open mouth and two pervasive fingers, the middle and the ring, entered it, indiscriminately rubbing everywhere, while the thumb pressed the snake lines engraved in it’s chin, the two remaining simply alternate between pressing themselves in the wolf’s face, or claw it.

It is said the brain hides things that would destroy us, that it twist their real meaning to not let the pillars of our sanity and selves crumble down. But the same mind he knew missed something, refused to forget this moment and what happened after. The constricting chains, the bent over, the spit, the releases and his denials. It’s begs and supplicates for and end, until the most humble and obedient plea:

“Danarius… please…”

“Oh my little wolf are you tired already?”

“Yes…”

“Yes what?”

“Yes… master”

Pleasure. The second word he knew, that filled and stained him. But whose pleasure it was? And most important,

Was there still a man inside?


End file.
